


ISABELLE

by Miss_Shiva_Adler



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction Withdrawal symptoms, Aromantic Asexual Raphael Santiago, Asexual Raphael Santiago, Canon Divergence, F/M, Feelings of guilt, Hopeful endings, Mention of Blood Drinking, Mention of addiction, Missing Scene, aroace Raphael santiago, heartbreaks, open endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Shiva_Adler/pseuds/Miss_Shiva_Adler
Summary: He has feelings for her. He is unable to describe it, unable to put it in plain words. But her name is always on his mind, especially when they are apart.Hunter Moon's Exchange Event 2020
Relationships: Isabelle Lightwood/Raphael Santiago
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: Hunter's Moon Creation Exchange, Isabelle/Raphael - Main Pairing Collection





	ISABELLE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EquusGirl (EquusGirl0621)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquusGirl0621/gifts).



> Hiii Equusgirl, I loved all your possible ships, it was hard to choose but here we are. I never can get enough of writing Raphael. For this fic I ended up writing him Aromantic next to being Asexual. I've never written this type of missing scene gift fic before. I hope you like it !
> 
> Thank you for fueling my creativity.

There is an emptiness to his room. 

It is a feeling that is all too familiar, too cold and too massive to overcome at times. The silence residing between the walls seems like a loud scream of folly. Raphael likes things this way. This state of mind is _ his _ own moment of peace and deliberation. It is  _ his _ own place, his own home. The safety, protection, this room and its silence is  _ his _ own personal haven.

On the far left of the room hangs a cross made of polished wenge. It towers over every surface and piece of furniture once it is revealed from behind its curtains. Handcrafted and cared for, Raphael asks for no one beside one trusted seelie to rejuvenate its glow twice a year. It is the most cherished piece of art in his possession. He has since long stopped explaining why it is important or even something precious. Even if nobody else understands why Raphael keeps it his room, the other vampires know not to enter or bother him when he takes time for himself like this, alone with his mind. 

So he sits there, staring. A few would say transfixed by a beauty that isn’t there. But it isn’t like that. It is not about beauty or about getting lost in contemplation. It is about fear. 

About fear and self-reflection. It taps into his instincts, into the Beast that’s hidden underneath his skin, behind his fangs, behind his urges. It recalls his misgivings and his deeds, his choices. It hammers his thoughts down, confronts him with what he should have done and what could have been. And what he currently is. 

It reminds him of his humanity. 

The fear makes his skin crawl and his nerves burn. But the calmness is what drives him to this challenge. After years of searching and pursuing who he is, he finds himself seeking out the strain and uneasiness of these thoughts to ground himself. 

So he stares, thinking. He lets his mind wander. He circles his thoughts. He doesn’t blink, he doesn’t move, he lets his vampiric nature out. The Beast caged behind the shields of his mind fights his resolve. But he is relaxed, at ease. He leans forward in his expensive velvet chair. 

As he looks up to the wooden cross he is reminded of his sins. Her name comes forth, heedless of him trying to conjure up other thoughts. And yet again, he gets lost in memories. 

_ Isabelle. _

Not his greatest sin, or mistake, or even regret. It… it is difficult to put things into words. Her perfume still clings to the air. Her presence is still on his skin and on his tongue. Her harsh words are still in his unbeating heart and still sting like a venomous dart. She is everywhere despite not being here. 

His decisions had been driven by logic. Or so he thought. But he had veiled himself and refused to see what it had been all along. His nature had resurfaced plain as day and he had lost control. 

He hates it, but wants to embrace it. There were drives and urges, always have been since the Beast in his mind never rests. But the way Isabelle Lightwood makes him feel alive ? It is more than just the blood, more than being predator and prey, more than the vampire and the cattle. She reminds him of a humanity he thought he lost 40 years ago, when his vampiric condition settled and he was taken in by the clan. 

Being kindred, a vampire, it divides as well as it helps the community to grow together. He never or rarely mingles with humans. He had stopped when he realized how vastly different they all were. There was them and there was ‘us’, there is Rosa but there isn’t anyone else. Isabelle Lightwood got under his skin, his fangs, his heart. It wasn’t the way the movies described it or the very much ‘chosen one’ people have proclaimed there would be. Raphael didn’t believe in those. Still doesn’t believe in those. And whatever Isabelle was… is. She isn’t ‘it’, she isn’t the ‘girl’ he had been waiting for. She is something else. Something no-one has ever prepared him for. 

_ He has feelings for her. _

He is unable to describe it, unable to put in plain words what and how things are between them. She… he doesn’t want to say ‘love’ because ‘love’ comes with expectations, a fitted mold you have to adhere to. He hates it. It is more than that, it is more than just that. It is  _ complicated.  _

And when things got complicated Raphael just left, tired of needing to justify who he is. But things with Isabelle, yet again, took an unforeseen turn when she asked him to kiss her. He didn’t want to. Not that he was opposed to it. But it always came with expectations. Kissing led to things he never liked explaining or needed defending himself for. He tried to distract her. But she didn’t budge. She asked, and people rarely asked. And for the first time Raphael found-finds himself wanting to look forward to exploring things and the emotions he feels. 

Acceptance is a strange feeling when you’ve been led to believe you weren’t allowed to be who you were for such a long time. His self confidence issues crumble like the tower of babel under her words and her gestures. Pain flows into distant memories and regrets are erased from memory. He forgets what he is and what has led him to be, the sins, the anger, the hurt, become a part of who he is and less like burden he carries on his shoulders.

Isabelle makes him feel like there is a liberation for his soul. He would… should have been dead and buried so long ago. She makes him feel like he shouldn’t have. She makes him want to live his unlife in ways he never thought he could… or even wanted. He is  _ happy _ . In her arms he feels like anything is possible. Like whatever has held him back doesn’t mean anything anymore. 

And her words cut, they cut deep. 

He clings to a hope that nothing is over just yet. Of course he wouldn’t push. But he can be patient. He would wait for her; and if needed, eventually move on. He just wishes she would give him the chance to explain… He had hidden her phone to protect her, not to keep her away. He just wanted her safe. She was high and drained. He wouldn’t have forgiven himself had she come to harm.

It hurts more than he wants and his reverie is suddenly broken by rushing thoughts and itchiness under his fingers. Withdrawal is different for him, his willpower is put at the test as violent impulses tell him to hunt and reclaim the blood he had tasted for days on end. It tears at his mind, wants to push him to become feral, to abandon himself to the violence and need for murder. 

He withdraws the blood from his skin, becoming even more the walking corpse that he is. Blood spent to look more human feels like a waste. He isn’t hungry but the craving remains so he stands up, glancing one last time back at his cross. There is a burning feeling of fear as he approaches it. He tugs on the tiebacks and the cross disappears behind the heavy velvet fabric.

He knows why she is here when he sees her coming after a guard calls his name. She reeks of sweat and her scent is sour because of over-poured perfume; she is showing an ugly side he doesn’t mind seeing. He knows it’s temporary. She just has to heal… She just has to fight him, the venom, herself mostly. His Beast rages and orders him to take a bite. Her blood so sweet and filling. There is a need to kill and feed under his fingers. But he doesn’t; because he is more than just instincts with Isabelle. And his Beast fades to the back of his mind. 

He still stays courteous, hoping she backs off. She lies, or whispers half truths. But he doesn’t want to dance this dance. Not with her, not today. Next to everything else, they are all in mourning.

So many of them have died yesterday. 

“It isn’t safe for a shadowhunter to be at the DuMort right now...” 

He can read on her face that she knows why she is here. There is a sinking feeling to her; as if she is drowning, a flash of understanding glows in her eyes. He knows why she is here and she can see it.

_ She regrets.  _

“Especially one looking for vampire venom.”

She panics. She starts pleading and he feels things he hasn’t before, or not in a long while. He cares… He cares so much. She brings the excuses he has heard so many times before from any yin fen addict. He tries to reason with her. She doesn’t see the micro-decisions she is making, not yet. She isn’t… she doesn’t…  _ think _ … about her decisions right now. Her whole body must be burning in need. 

He feels guilty for having given in that one night in the back alley. He  _ knew _ . He knew and this situation was  _ his _ doing. The consequences of his decisions; He thought he could handle it. But it escaped his grasp, escaped her grasp. He should have been more responsible about it. His arrogance has led him here. It is up to him to make it right. To make her choose life above death. 

She touches him but he wishes she didn’t. 

He can’t keep his voice from breaking a little when he tells her to go. It’s stuck in his throat and shame lies on his tongue. She is about to cry and he can’t face it. -Can’t even look at her- He feels torn asunder, shattering to pieces. It hurts and it makes him feel his humanity like it never even left him. Guilt is painful and it makes him want to weep. He looks back at her and there is a tremble to his motions and he wants her to  _ go _ . Because he is losing control and his fangs pop because of it. The smell of her blood in her veins… he can hear it. He can hear it crying out, but he is projecting, he knows. Isabelle uses herself and his weakness and he tries to keep himself calm. 

_ Raphael is more than just his instincts when he is with Isabelle. _

It’s a mantra, he repeats it in his mind and he dreams, remembers: Her sighs, her body heat, her tears, the taste of her blood. The way her body sometimes moves and when she abandons herself against his lips and his fangs. He dreams of biting her in her neck and her chest. The resonance of her blood echoes in his mind and he feels his fangs straining his gums to find a target. 

He weeps. But there are no tears. 

He weeps because the onslaught of anger on her side burns. It’s irrational. And she shouts, screams. Until she lies. The truth pours out of Raphael’s mouth in anger and pain before he can even control it. 

“It’s because  _ I _ care.” 

He looks at her, his feelings out and torn. He feels vulnerable for admitting; every time again and again. He feels helpless and exposed. And he failed her. He knows, he knows so much. They have both lost themselves and he tainted her. He had tainted her through and through. Remorse is what guides his next words. 

If only he hadn’t been so  _ egoistical _ . If only he hadn’t and lost  _ control _ .

“I should have never given you a taste.” 

He reads her anger and as she presses the dagger, he wishes fleetingly for her to end it all. She doesn’t. She stops. Isabelle is stronger than any woman or person he’s ever met. She is stronger than he ever would have been. Her beauty, her valor and courage… he admires it all. She deserves a happiness that transcends any world or dimension. He isn’t selfish enough to think she would ever find it at his side. 

Her name is past his lips before he thinks. 

She is right, in so many ways she is right. And it is all his fault. Her tears flow and her seraph dagger falls from her hands. He wants to tug at her wrist, grab her into his arms. He wants to apologize, show her that what is happening is his doing, his mistake, his hubris having the better of him. He wants to kiss her… soothe the pain away, forget about everything and everything around them. To be just them, no blood, no boundaries, no wars and no mourning. But it’s too soon. Too soon for these words and these desires. They have to  _ fix _ themselves first. And only then… Only then maybe… When all this is over… He’d dare to dream of something better for the both of them.

She flees. 

He doesn’t follow.

There is nothing left to say anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're over 18 and wanna hang out with other people who love Shadowhunters (I'm there too) come check out the [Hunter's Moon](https://discord.gg/RhZPtsd)


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